


you can hear it in the silence

by jemmasimmons



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, basically im going to hell for this fic, hehehehe, ive been planning this for so long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4166580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmasimmons/pseuds/jemmasimmons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He was eighteen and she was seventeen. They met as rivals, but grew to become more; only they didn’t know that yet."<br/>-<br/>In which Fitzsimmons grew to become more and hoped it would last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you can hear it in the silence

**Author's Note:**

> \+ the purpose of this fic was to destroy vicki as promised so here we go
> 
> \+ im probably going to hell for this
> 
> \+ this fic is inspired by plinys' 'a perfect stranger who knows you too well' which is beautiful and definitely worth the read
> 
> \+ title is from you are in love by taylor swift

**i.**

He was eighteen and she was seventeen. They met as rivals, but grew to become more; only they didn’t know that yet.

 

**xv.**

“Jemma,” Fitz would whisper when he’d thought no one was looking. “Are you okay?”

“I miss you, Jem.”

“Jemma, are you waiting for me?”

“I’ll be there soon, Jem.”

 

**vi.**

“Oh, _Leopold!_ ”

Despite wincing a little at the use of his name, Fitz brushed down the front of his tux and raised an eyebrow as he asked “You like it?”

His mother nodded, although her movements were stuttered over the FaceTime connection. “Yes,” she said in her thick, Scottish accent. “Very much. You’re all grown up.” Fitz could hear her voice breaking into small sobs, even if she was trying to hide it over the bad connection.

“Yeah,” Fitz’s smile couldn’t be hidden.

“Although I wish you would shave –“

“ _Mum -_ ”

“Leopold,” she said in a tone that was sterner than before, silencing Fitz. “You look very handsome.” She took in her only son’s appearance, “I’m so proud of you. Jemma won’t know what’s hit her when she sees you in that.”

 

**ix.**

It was a trap.

There was gunfire everywhere; people yelling and screaming _Retreat! We’ve been compromised!_ and words of a similar sort. It was nothing short of frantic chaos.

 _Jemma,_ Fitz thought. _Jemma?_ _Where is she?_

 

**ii.**

“You’re more than that, Jemma.”

 

**x.**

Fitz’s side hurt. Fitz’s whole body hurt, he realised. Though his side reaped with pain much more brutal than the rest of his sore body.

The flames from the Bus licked the air where he had previously been stood, chaos still mounting. Had he really been thrown that far?

A silver glint caught his eye as he propped himself wearily onto his elbows to investigate. _Oh,_ he thought as he found the source of the glint, feeling fear creep further down his spine as he realised that the metal shard was stuck firmly in his stomach.

 

**xi.**

“Don’t move,” Jemma instructed.

Fitz gave a weak laugh, “It’s not exactly like I can.”

Jemma didn’t seem to find the funny side of his joke as he watched lines of worry carve into her slight features. “We have to get you out of here,” she stated in unison with another in a long line of explosions. Fitz could see her frantically trying to calculate her next move but coming up short in process.

Instinctively, he took her hand. Partly to calm her, but also to calm himself. He’d seen first-hand what abdominal trauma could do, and although he wished by some miracle there was some GH325 knocking around, he had the next best thing and he knew that she sure as hell wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

Jemma took a shaky breath and composed herself. “This is not what I meant when I said be careful, Fitz.”

He gave her a weak smile as she pressed down on his stomach.

 

**v.**

He was twenty-eight and she was twenty-seven. He knelt on one knee and offered her an eternity together.

She threw his arms around him and hoped the eternity would never fade.

**xii.**

Jemma, although he hated to admit it, was no match for the HYDRA agent stood before them. Almost twice her size (and twice as terrifying), he towered over Jemma’s tiny frame. This didn’t stop Jemma from standing tall, looking the agent square in the eye and telling him to walk away. But it wasn’t enough.

Fitz didn’t think. He reached for his gun and pulled the trigger. He kept pulling the trigger until he couldn’t anymore, even after the HYDRA agent had crumpled to the ground. But he didn’t care. He’d watched Jemma hit the ground first.

 

**vii.**

**From: Jemma [13:41pm]**

_One week xx_

Fitz couldn’t help but smile.

 

**xiii.**

Fitz threw his gun to the ground, pulling himself across the ground towards Jemma despite the excruciating pain that flooded him.

She stared at him with glassy eyes and rasped breaths, searching his face for an answer she knew she wouldn’t find.

He pulled her close and whispered words of denial as her face grew paler by the second; the patch of red on her chest ceased to stop.

“This is not what I meant when I said be careful, Jem,” he joked. She gave him a weak smile and a sob.

He told her to hold on, even though he knew it was futile, but he did. He whispered it to her over and over again, pressing his forehead to hers in the hope that some miracle would save them both the pain he knew was coming, yet refused to admit ever would.

Jemma’s hand trailed through his curls. Tears damped her cheeks. She murmured something.

“What?”

“The whole damn time,” she croaked exasperatedly. “I’ll be with you, the whole damn time.”

Fitz trailed kisses across her face, just like she had done many years before when he gave his life for her. Only this time the final kiss landed on her lips; quick and passionate as if there wasn’t much time left. “The whole damn time, Jemma,” he breathed as their future slowly slipped away. “I’ll be waiting.”

 

**iv.**

Fitz first knew that he loved his best friend one seemingly obscure night some years ago. After a marathon of Doctor Who episodes, Jemma had begun to snore softly. Fitz didn’t know when exactly she’d fallen asleep, but he couldn’t help but stare as she did.

Curled up on his chest, Jemma looked silently content. Her hand was still gripping a fistful of his shirt and she kept wrinkling her nose as she slept, which made Fitz chuckle softly as he watched her.

He woke the next morning to find Jemma staring at him just as he had done that night.

“Are you staring at me?” he asked with a sleepy smile.

Jemma raised an eyebrow, “You talk in your sleep.”

“You snore,” he countered. Fitz wasn’t sure how Jemma’s eyebrow could’ve been raised any higher, but she managed it somehow. But this time she managed a soft – almost smug – smile to accompany it. “What?” Jemma’s smile grew. _“What?”_

She pulled herself closer to Fitz, pressing her lips against his and leaving him dumbfounded as she pulled away and curled her head back into the crook of his neck, grabbing the TV remote as she did. “Now, where were we?”

 

**xiv.**

Fitz would sometimes ask for her. He would wear a smile as he thought of her, his brown-eyed fiancée with a penchant for the weird and wonderful.

He asked too many times.

Bobbi sighed. She’d drawn the short straw again.

 

**viii.**

It had become almost a pre-mission ritual now.

A hug, a kiss, a smile. _Be careful._ Another smile and they went their separate ways. They knew they would find each other later on.

 

**xvi.**

It was a blur really. He lay on the bed, motionless and quiet. It was like his didn’t notice everyone else in the room and how they were frantic they all were.

His body jerked, once, twice, three times. There was no response. They tried again, and yet there was still nothing.

There was a mutual hesitance between all the people in the room. No one wanted to call it. No one dared. So they tried again, pressing their hands on his chest and filling him up with adrenaline. They tried and tried again but in the end the result was clear.

Time of death: 13:41.

 

**iii.**

“There’s nothing to discuss, Jemma.”

_“Maybe there is.”_

 

**xvii.**

They were twenty-nine. They lay in wooden boxes side by side, union jacks strewn over them both.

Their eternity was over before it had begun.


End file.
